


stress relief

by callistocity



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Heavy Angst, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, OT8, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Self-Worth Issues, Triggers, Yang Jeongin | I.N-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-01-21 07:35:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21295850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callistocity/pseuds/callistocity
Summary: as long as he smiles, they won’t know, right?they can never know.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 169





	1. nights

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warning for a description of self-harm.

he doesn't remember when it started. 

all he knew was that he was sitting on the bathroom floor again when he should be in his bed, his mind absolutely blank. 

he sat on the floor, away from the small rugs so he didn’t stain it by accident.

he wore a hoodie and sweatpants, even though he would eventually take one of them off. 

he had his earbuds in, music playing at a low volume just in case someone were to get out their room and start wandering around. he's had a few close calls before, and the mere thought of him getting caught makes his stomach twist into uncomfortable knots. 

he didn't want to imagine the outcome of them finding out. 

would they kick him out the group? would they feel disgusted by him? would they grow more distant? 

they're all things that he fears. 

and although he knew somewhere in the back of his mind that what he was doing was wrong, and that he shouldn't have to do this, they are better ways to deal with it,

he couldn't. 

he didn't know any other way. writing his feelings took up entirely too much time and effort that he did not have left in him. he couldn't draw out his thoughts, he couldn't dance them dull, he couldn't play them into songs. 

he got stuck listening to music, letting the sounds wash over his mind repeatedly like a trance. 

but even that did not suffice. the music couldn't reach the deepest pits of the thoughts, only digging them out into the open and letting them bounce wildly in his brain. 

"_you did not improve." _

_ "your voice is suffocating." _

_ "you stick out too much." _

"_your voice is suffocating." _

_ "your dancing is weak." _

_ "your voice is so suffocating." _

it always hurt. like an open wound festering underneath a blazing sun, his mind became swarmed with other ugly thoughts the longer the music played.

"_why wasn't i eliminated?" _

_ "why did jyp keep me?" _

_ "why do my hyungs like me?" _

_ "why am i here if i can't contribute?" _

those questions slept in his subconscious during the day and came alive at night, haunting and taunting him out of bed. 

and then he was sitting on the bathroom floor, his left hand holding his phone. 

the other was holding a razor with dried blood on its edges. 

the more he sat, the more persistent the thoughts became inside of his head. 

"_just cut your arm." _

_ "cut your legs, it's less noticeable." _

_ "nobody will see your stomach." _

_ "it's not that big of a deal." _

_ "you deserve it." _

does he?

he barely gave it a second thought before he remembered the wrinkles and deep sighs on his leader's face when jeongin couldn't sing his part of their song right. the constant feedback and critiques rammed into his brain, and he cringed at the memory. jeongin had been in there longer than the others, and struggled with chan and the other producers to get his notes right until it became too late and they had to move on. frustration was written on chan's face, but as he passed by jeongin he mustered a quick, "try to practice more," before exiting the room.

but that was enough for jeongin. 

"_see, you made chan mad." _

_ "all because your voice is too weak." _

_ "your voice is suffocating." _

he rolled up his pant leg, pulling the black material up to his knee. 

"_if you do it behind your knee no one will notice." _

he placed the razor behind his knee, and tested the edge against his skin. a single drop of blood appeared on the surface of his skin, and he pressed it in further. 

red started to smear on his leg, the lines going in every direction and filling the blank space. he winced when he created an x, the intersecting lines coming together at a painful point. 

it was only when he saw the blood dripping down to his ankle that he stopped, setting the red razor down onto the floor. 

he grabbed the toilet paper and began to wipe up his leg, the stinging of the cuts starting to set into his nerves. 

the cuts were worse that time. 

they spanned across the back of his leg, overlapping with old cuts and each other. the long slashes and short deep marks created a frightening display on his leg. 

he ripped off more toilet paper, tears starting to well up and his fingers starting to tremble at the fact that it wouldn't stop bleeding. 

"_isn't this what you wanted?" _

_ "you wanted to bleed, and now you want it to stop?" _

_ "you're such a baby." _

_ "this is why you don't improve." _

tears that were sitting in his eyes split over, blurring his vision and making a quiet sob escape his mouth. 

he bit his lip to stop the sounds, and quickly wiped away his tears with the back of his hand. his entire form shuddered as he tried to compose himself, the marks on his leg continuing to bleed. 

"_get a grip." _

_ "the marks aren't that bad." _

_ "just clean up and go." _

chest shaking, jeongin picked up the ruined paper and put it in the toilet, not yet flushing it down. he slowly rose from the floor, his damaged leg trembling due to the force placed on it. he clung to the sink counter, pulling himself up and opening the cabinet. 

there was a first aid kit, sitting nice and neat on the shelf as if it were waiting to be used. 

jeongin opened it up on the floor, pulling out a couple of the large bandages from the kit. 

the blood had trailed down his leg again, and he simply wiped it up again before putting the adhesives on. 

"_see? it's not that hard to cut yourself." _

_ "don't you feel better?" _

_ "you will finally know what actual pain feels like." _

jeongin got up from the ground, using one hand to hold the counter and the other to hold the kit. he placed the kit back and flushed the toilet, watching the tinted water disappear down the drain. he pulled his pant leg back down, and observed the floor to see if any blood got on places they weren't supposed to be. 

once he deemed it safe, he limped toward the bathroom door, turning off the light and opening it slowly. he peered into the dark and empty hallway, and tiptoed back to his room. 

_ thank god jisung comes home late. _

he slipped into his bed, ignoring the stinging pain and shut his eyes, trying to fall asleep. 

but the raging thoughts still continued on and on, through the night. 

_ "you have no idea what your hyungs go through." _

_ "they work so much harder than me." _

_ "i have no special talents." _

_ "felix should have never been eliminated." _

_ "jyp should have picked me to go." _

_ "felix didn't deserve it." _

_ "he worked harder than me." _

_ "his voice isn't suffocating." _

_ "his dance isn't bad." _

_ "he's funny, and handsome, and cool." _

_ "what am i?" _

_ "i'm boring." _

_ "i'm behind in everything, but only five months younger than seungmin, felix, and jisung-hyung." _

_ "my age is no excuse for my lacking." _

_ "i should have been eliminated." _

_ "i'm bringing the group down." _

_ "i hate this." _

_"i hate me."_

this is how jeongin spends his nights.


	2. school life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry for being so late with this chapter. i hope you had a happy thanksgiving if you celebrated it! remember to stay warm.

his legs burn when he wakes up. 

the sting of his injuries slowly became a typical feeling for him to wake up to. before, he would be confused as to why he would wake up with bloody bandages underneath his sheets, but then the memory of the night before would appear back in his mind and reveal all the sins he had committed.

_ “you were rude to changbin-hyung.” _

_ “you didn’t do well on your music theory test.” _

_ “you missed too many steps during practice.” _

and the punishment would make sense. 

but as time went on, the marks that littered his legs came to serve more as reminders than punishments, an ugly visual display of how defective he was. it was like a taunt, a message continuously repeating somewhere in his mind, either laying in his subconscious or in the center of his thoughts. 

and he couldn’t shut that part of his mind down. 

he tried to, in the beginning, attempting to ignore the reprimands as something that wasn’t a sum of himself. but in hand with the dark red slashes, they spread across his brain like a parasite, invading every sensible part of himself until it was all he could think. 

and now, he let himself submerge in the black pool of his contemplation. it drew him in easily, covering him head to toe in frightening ideas when he would lie in bed and in a numb state whenever he had to face reality.

but those thoughts in his head were already a reality for him. 

it was just a matter of time before they consumed him entirely. 

but until then, he laid in his bed, watching as the morning minutes go by on his phone screen.

◉

his head vibrated against the car window, watching the rain droplets stream from above his head and out of his vision. the car drove steadily, a bit slow from the cars that were swarmed around them. 

jeongin found the sound of the light drops falling on the roof of the car relaxing, and in combination with the quiet music flowing from his earbuds, he found himself in a rare state of tranquility. he grasped at these moments the most, knowing how easily they could slip right through his fingers with a simple, evil, invading thought. 

this morning he was tired. he had a late-night dance practice with his mates and another session alone on the bathroom floor. he’s not sure if it was the pain that woke him up or something else, but he was awake before the sun even had a chance to think of rising. 

that alone time allowed all the critique he received earlier to come and crash and burn through his mind. he watched the gray light seep through his window, thinking himself into endless oblivion. but slowly, the thoughts boiled down to form one key message. 

“_you aren’t doing good enough. _”

and with that, he was left numb.

even though jeongin had been sinking deeper in the cynical part of his psyche, there were instances like that when his brain couldn’t process all of the malicious thoughts at once, and the result was becoming half-conscious. the other part of him would get lost in his own monstrous sea, pulled apart by the voices in his subconscious. and the part that remained active to reality was hanging on to it by a thread, simply floating through the day and never truly being _ alive _ in a mental sense. 

he hardly remembered if chan said good-bye to him as he left the dorm, or if he remembered to bring all his textbooks for the day.

all he really knew was that he was heading to school, listening to yet another chill song, (day6, he thinks), and watching the rain around his car surround him in a comforting way. 

but as the car approached the school building, the well-known name becoming clearer in the distance, jeongin began to fall back into the real world again. 

he knew he shouldn’t really hate school, (he’s not there half the time), but he just couldn’t bring himself to enjoy it in the way he did before. 

maybe it’s because hyunjin stopped accompanying him. although they argued most of the time on the way to the place, jeongin couldn’t deny that he was a great distraction to everything else.

without him, it got too quiet, too cold, and jeongin retreated back into his mind too easy without him by his side. instead of walking through the school and spotting hyunjin a couple of times in the hallway, shooting him a smile or wave, jeongin ambled through it mindlessly, not caring where he was or what he was doing. 

it all became the same for him. 

sing this song. write these notes. study that piece. complete this for homework. practice those problems.

but he knew he shouldn’t complain. hyunjin and seungmin went through the same process without a hitch. hyunjin was only whiny in the morning, but once he passed through the doors, he breezed through his classes, having friends at his side all along the way. seungmin was quieter but smarter, and he had done pretty well with his grades despite working at his maximum capacity, and then some as they were becoming stray kids. 

jeongin envied them. he struggled around the reality show time, putting in long hours dancing and singing and constantly being at risk of being _ eliminated _ kept him at night. 

he thinks that’s when his dislike for school began. it kept him away from the more important things, stripping him down to a brain with pencil and paper, continuously being asked to do similar tasks all the time. it was like the school knew he was less, and piled work on top of him just to see how much more he could take. 

they knew he wasn’t like his hyungs. he didn’t possess that natural talent they seemed to have, and he had to struggle harder just to be somewhat close to his members. 

jeongin wanted to prove himself. he wanted to show that he _ could _ do it, that he could be at hyunjin’s level, at seungmin’s level. but, pathetically, it seemed that he could never quite reach it, their grades always just a bit higher, their dancing always just a bit cleaner, their voices always sounding _ better. _

jeongin was running a race with everyone else halfway to the finish line, him just starting out. he could run all he wanted, reach as far as his arm could, but they would always be done_ first _. 

and it burnt him out. 

(it burnt him out now). 

when he stepped out of the car, umbrella in hand, he felt a shadowing sensation of exhaustion begin to creep on him, circling around his mind like a black fog before it could register in his body. 

_ “are you ready for school jeongin?” _

_ “you better do well.” _

_ “you can’t have your grades slip.” _

_ “or people will see just how talentless you are.” _

_ “do you want to disappoint your hyungs? management? your parents?” _

jeongin shivered in the chilly air, walking toward the school entrance. 

_ “if hyunjin can do it, so can you.” _

_ “don’t you want to prove yourself?” _

jeongin opened the door. 

_ “i can do it.” _

_ “i can’t fall behind.” _

and another day in his school life began.


	3. déjà vu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's holiday time, so i hope you enjoy your break and get to eat yummy food.

the hard bass beats resonated throughout the room, filling his brain with sound. it traveled through his body, finding a permanent place deep within his bones. the loud synths and distorted vocals were engraved into jeongin’s memory, and jeongin doesn’t think he could forget about this song even if he tried. 

sweat beads began to grow plentiful on his face, streaming slowly down the temples of his face and his neck. his face was tinged by the recognizable red of exhaustion, one that was signature to dance practicing and performing. 

he could feel his small heart thumping loudly in his chest, body trying to keep up the racing sounds. his arms mimicking the sharp angles that minho had demonstrated in earlier practices. 

_ faster. _

he turned quickly into his next position, the vertigo of the movement blurring his eyesight. he kneeled on the ground, watching the other members move through his altered vision, the tempo picking up. 

_ faster. _

his legs whirled back to life, jumping back up and running into his next move. his hair was beginning to stick to his forehead, the edges of his vision covered by the fringe of his black bangs. his legs fought to hit every step on time, his brain trying to coordinate the moves he was doing while simultaneously preparing himself for the next.

there was hardly any thinking involved in the process, as it ultimately boiled down to if jeongin’s muscles retained the memory of the movements through the endless practices. if jeongin thought too hard about the movements, he would become slow; clumsy even. 

chan and minho had always reminded him of that. the dancing during the survival show brought around bitter feeling for him, because of the constant reminders of how amateur he was compared to his fellow members. he was always _stiff _ , always _ slow _ , always _ wrong _ in the eyes of his older brothers. 

_ faster. _

and suddenly, he couldn’t hear the music that had been looping through his ears for hours on end.

he wasn’t dancing anymore.

◉

“stop.”

the light of the practice room was glaringly bright, the reflection bouncing off the shiny floor and onto the walls and mirrors. 

jeongin had sweat trailing down his cheeks, his shirt sticking to back for the past hour. his cheeks glowed an embarrassingly bright red, along with the tips of his ears. his chest was expanding dramatically, trying to catch the breath he had lost from the hours of repeated steps. 

chan sighed, sitting on a bench across from jeongin

“jeongin, you’re thinking too much about the moves,” chan said. 

“your body is too stiff, and it’s slowing you down,” he continued, and the dread that had been building in jeongin’s brain since the other members had gone their separate ways was threatening to explode. 

“you have to keep up with the rest of us, okay?” chan said, and jeongin swallowed, shaking his head in affirmative. 

“yes, hyung.”

he clasped his fingers behind his back to prevent them from trembling. his fingernails dug into his palm, awaiting for whatever other critique that chan had to offer.

_ “why i can’t i ever do the dance correctly?” _

jeongin looked at the front of his shoes, not daring to look at chan in the eyes. although he was their leader, and he was supposed to depend on him freely, part of jeongin’s conscience couldn’t bring himself to do so. he felt guilty, knowing the dark colors that were staining underneath chan’s eyes and the sleepless nights he endured was for the benefit of the group. 

he couldn’t bring himself to add on to that burden. it was like an unspoken rule within the dorm, traveling silently but dominating the member’s mind with a simple message. 

_ “deal with it yourself first, until you can’t.” _

and jeongin was trying to do the same. 

but recently, new voices began to enter his mind, ones that he hadn’t dealt with before. it confused him, shrouding the truth with artificial facts that he needed to take time to think about, which he didn’t have to do before. 

he considered asking the members why he felt like that, but his voice faltered and his hand always ghosted over the doorknob whenever he saw them working. 

they were focused on their individual tasks, and jeongin wasn’t comfortable enough to invade their space and ask them questions that only he himself could determine the answer to. jeongin wasn’t even comfortable with the new thoughts, so it even felt strange for him to conjure up the words for the questions in the first place.

“_what do i say?” _

_ “that i don’t feel like myself?” _

_ “that i’m starting to have less confidence?” _

_ “that i feel numb?” _

jeongin didn’t like the way they sounded. the way the questions rolled off his tongue was unnatural like he had crossed over a line into obscurity. 

so he dropped the subject from his mind. 

and just like that, he didn’t have to confront the thoughts anymore, letting them mingle among the other thoughts and ideas present in his conscience. 

but now, those pushed aside thoughts came alive, gnawing away at his judgment every time he was placed in a situation like this one. 

chan's midnight eyes were sharp and roughened, boring into jeongin with an intensity that no one else could compare to. it made jeongin's heart threaten to jump out his chest, fingers still trembling behind his back as he awaited his final order.

“_what else is he going to say? _”

“_is he going to make me do it again? _”

“_why can’t i ever-” _

◉

the song was over.

jeongin was positioned on the floor, panting heavily on one knee. his arm was reaching up toward felix, who was the center of the particular choreography. the boy in attention had his hands on his knees, his blonde hair covering the view of his face. jeongin could tell that he was exhausted, judging by the way his back rose and fell and how ragged his breaths were. 

it was then when jeongin noticed how quiet the room had gotten, save for the sounds of his members' fatigue. jisung was already sprawled on the floor, his black hoodie swallowing the top of his lithe form whole as he exhaled dramatically. 

“chan-hyung,” he breathed, not even bothering to look at the leader, who was messing with the computer on the other side of the room. “please say that this is the last run-through.”

chan didn’t respond, but the sweat that glistened on his body paired with his quiet yet deep breathing gave a hint to what he might say. 

“yeah, let’s take a break,” changbin added on, sitting cross-legged on the floor, downing half a water bottle within seconds. he wipes his forehead clean of sweat, looking toward the leader who finally made his way back to the dance formation. 

“alright, we have about half the song down. now we need to work on the second half,” chan said, standing with his hands on his hips, his labored breathing matching with the exhaustion that grown on the members.  
“take a break. we’ll work on it later,” he said, and a chorus of groans and breathless cheers followed. jeongin finally moved out of his position, walking to his bag to take a drink of water. 

he didn’t want to move until chan gave the all-clear, just in case they were to do it again. 

and while his members were winding down and cooling off, a small tap on his shoulder had the maknae whirling around only to meet chan. 

“hey hyung,” jeongin said, becoming increasingly aware of chan’s neutral expression, one that he only had when he wanted to talk about something. 

“hey jeongin-ah,” he said, patting the boy on the shoulder before his voice dropped, “you seemed out of it during practice.”

jeongin froze still underneath chan’s hand. it was like someone had dropped an icy weight in the pit of his stomach, the sudden feeling making him lightheaded. 

“_i was in my thoughts again?” _

_ “no, i thought i was keeping up-”_

_"_you were thinking of the moves too much._"_

_"no, no, no-" _

_ "again?"_

the ice present in his stomach burst into hot, troubled flames. he couldn't believe that it was happening _again_, and _again_, and-

“so i want you to practice more after, okay? you were a bit slow,” chan finished, but jeongin was already far gone from the conversation. his mind was being pulled and mangled by his thoughts, already bracing himself to be put at the mercy of chan's criticism and his own. he managed, however, to reply with a quiet "okay," nodding his head and giving chan an expression of understanding although it felt like his mind was splitting in two. 

_"why i am the same as i was before?"_

_"why can't i escape?"_


	4. vertigo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! welcome to the new year, or decade i should say. sorry for being gone so long. this chapter was sort of complicated to write because i initially didn't know which direction to go in, but as i wrote the direction created itself. also, thank you for 1000 hits. that's really crazy to me considering there's only three parts, but i am grateful nonetheless. this is a longer chapter so i hope you enjoy(?) it. thank you.  
trigger warning for blood and injury.

he was still there. 

the dark shadows of the practice room swirled around his vision, mixing into a palette of muted sanguines and coffee-tinted browns. he couldn’t decipher if the dancing he was doing was a choreography of his band's or of another, but that was not at the forefront of his worries. 

the music that was pumping through the room was quiet, a relief from the earlier practice that nearly caused jeongin’s head to split in two. it made it easier for him to concentrate on the motion of his body, rather than the disorienting music. 

but that was a couple of hours ago. the late-night had turned into the early morning, but jeongin couldn’t spot the difference between them. the hours blended seamlessly into one another, making it seem like one big mass of dancing and spinning and repeating rather than several hours of doing the same steps over and over, like a machine. 

the shades of the room continued to collide together, blurring his vision and leaving him to determine what move he was doing or song he was practicing at the moment. 

was it an old song? or was it a special one for a music show? 

he didn’t place much importance on it. 

all that mattered to him was that he was dancing, attempting to strengthen the skill he was the weakest in so he didn’t appear as the dunce in the group. 

_ “you think this is going to help you?” _

_ “you’re not even trying.” _

the shadowy colors became streaks like brush strokes were painted over his eyes. they clouded his mind, making it harder to separate the individual features of the room from a mass of colors. even still, he danced like it was the fire of his life, the only thing keeping him attached to this world. 

_ “more.” _

everything became unfocused. fast-moving images and flashes were the only things he could see, and at that point, he was not dancing anymore. but that was not important to him. 

_ “more.” _

rather than dancing, he was moving, jumping, spinning around and around and around in the practice room. he didn’t care about the movements, he didn’t care for accuracy. his mind was overtaken by the _want_, the _need_, the _desire _to move until he dropped. 

_ “more!” _

he couldn’t control himself anymore. sweat had long gathered among all the open areas of skin, casting a sheen of exhaustion on his countenance. he couldn’t discern between which direction was right or left, mind escaping from his conscious and plunging into the void. 

there was a lost feeling of center in his body, and he was faintly aware that at any moment he would come crashing to the ground. 

but he didn’t _ care _.

he just needed to do something, _ anything _, to contribute to the group. he couldn’t stand being the one that was the weakest, the one that relied on his cute features and personality to be recognized. he wanted to be known for something more admirable, like minho with his dancing and jisung with his rapping and chan with his round-the-clock work ethic.

he needed to do _ something. _ to _ be _ something other than a flimsy boy with a replaceable voice. 

_ “MORE!” _

jeongin finally stopped.

his eyes were no longer being enveloped by the shadowy colors of the practice room. his mind was no longer being overwhelmed by the actions of his body. his heart stopped pounding deafeningly in his ears, retreating into a near inaudible state. 

everything became crystal clear as he stared at himself in the mirror, arms spread wide as if he was ready to embrace someone. he was balancing painfully on the tip of his toe, suddenly trying not to fall. 

he was fearful of what would happen if he fell. 

.

.

.

_ “CRACK!” _

and then, jeongin found himself on the floor, body lying limp on the wooden surface. he could hardly register the amount of pain that he was in, his head feeling as if it was struck by a bolt of lightning. it was a pain that was spread across his entire body like someone had crushed it into the ground. he wanted to scream, but the sound was caught in his throat and unable to escape from his lips. 

fear began to creep into his nerves, causing his fingers to twitch from being unable to move from the ground. he hated how immobile he was, how at any moment someone could see him splayed out on the floor pathetically, like a carcass rotting out in the sun. he couldn’t begin to imagine the look on his member’s faces if they saw him like this. 

_ “what a disgrace.” _

_ “do you think they would be impressed by this?” _

_ “your ‘hard work’?” _

_ “you’re such a pity.” _

he shut his eyes, trying to keep the tears that had formed from slipping away. 

_ “why am i like this?” _

_ “why am i so flawed?” _

_ “i’m such a waste of a human body.” _

he whimpered quietly, his head throbbing immensely from its impact with the floor. there was a foreign sensation near the back of his head, one that he couldn’t tell if it was real or something that his fatigue-addled brain was making up. 

all he knew was that it felt warm. warmer than the rest of his head that was pulsing erratically, and his body, which ached with every slight movement. 

the pain in his head slowly overcame him, with faint lights appearing in the darkness of his shut eyes. although he wanted to give up, to lie there until it went away, he knew he couldn’t. 

if anyone saw him there, so weak and helpless, they would definitely kick him out. 

he would be _ punished _. 

and jeongin didn’t want that.

so he forced his eyes to open, a few trapped tears running down his face and falling onto the floor. ignoring them, he saw through his cloudy vision a reflection of himself in the wall mirror, placed on the opposite side of where he was lying.

and his heart froze still in his chest. 

there was dark substance staining the side of his face, trailing off his chin and creating a small pool around his mouth. the same dark color was spread across his neck, an even larger spot of the liquid around his shoulder.

it smelled of iron.

and just how his heart became still, it exploded back into life, beating at an uncomfortable rate. 

_ “what, what is that?” _ jeongin thought, his fingers starting to tremble, “ _ it can’t be blood, can it?” _

jeongin watched as the blood began to stream down his face, coming from somewhere on his head. 

the place that was warm. 

jeongin screamed, the blood gushing from the back of his head at an alarming rate. it flowed over his face, staining the entirety of it with the sickening crimson hue. 

“_ it’s too much _ ,” jeongin thought, his whole body beginning to shake, “ _ i’m going to die. _”

the blood did not listen.

it continued to surge outward, spreading from the poor boy’s head to his outstretched fingertips, relentless in its deadly stream. it seeped through his clothes, covering his skin in the thick liquid that he so desperately wanted to stop. 

_ “stop!” _he pleaded, feeling his body succumb to the weariness and loss of blood. he couldn’t feel the throbbing that has possessed him earlier, only a feeling of numbness filling his senses.

_ “please!” _he begged, the lights that were spotted in his sight earlier morphing into gray patches, attempting to overtake his vision and drag him into unconsciousness. 

_ “please.” _

he could taste the blood on his lips. 

_ “please…” _

the gray swelled up in his eyes, crashing down on his sight and making it the only thing he could see. 

his eyes closed.

◉

jeongin was screaming when he woke up.

he shot upward in his bed, his voice giving out once he sat up. his heart took over the sound in the quiet room instead, filling it with its reverberant beat. 

his breath was lost, panting slightly as if he had just finished a race. his hands were trembling, just like his dream as he clutched the sheets, so tight that his nails were digging into his palm despite the blanket placed in between. his brain was still trying to comprehend the events that had just taken place in his dream that he didn’t even notice the person standing beside him until-

-they placed their hand on his shoulder.

jeongin jumped up, pulling his sheet up with him. the person placed their hand on jeongin’s other shoulder, rubbing it with his thumbs in an attempt to calm him down. 

“hey, hey, it’s jisung,” jisung whispered, trying to soothe the younger, “are you okay?”

jeongin looked at him warily, making out the puffy features of his hyung’s face through the light peeping through the window. his hair was unkempt and ruffled like he had just rolled out of bed. 

_ “you woke him up, idiot.” _

“hey, jeongin, what happened? you were screaming in your sleep,” jisung asked, staring at the boy with a soft expression, laced with slight worry. 

“i, i, uh,” he started, stuttering as he tried to explain himself, but the emotion of the dream engulfed him and real tears welled up in his eyes. he gripped the sheet tighter, forcing himself to keep his feelings at bay. 

_ “why can’t you answer him?” _

“jeongin-ah,” jisung said, his voice becoming gentler, one of his hands rising from his shoulder to his forehead, his fingers threading through the pitch-black strands of hair. “talk to me. i’m not going to judge you.”

jeongin felt his throat dry up, and he ducked his head down to avoid making eye contact with him. 

he knew that if he met his hyung’s eyes, he would break. 

and he didn’t want to break down anymore.

“i, i, had a dream that i was dying,” jeongin managed to choke out, his throat becoming tighter after he said it. he squeezed his eyelids together before the tears could resurface, the scenes flashing through his brain. the blood spilling from his wound, the dreadful sight of it _surrounding _ him, _ trapping _ him, so close he could-

“it’s okay,” jisung hushed, climbing into jeongin’s bed. he sat in front of jeongin, pulling the wrinkled sheets from his hands and replacing them with his own. jeongin’s hands were still trembling slightly, and before he could recognize it, a tear slipped from his eye and fell on top of his blanket. 

“i’m s-sorry i woke you up,” the younger apologized, sniffling, “i, i just-”

_ “you’re pathetic.” _

“it’s okay innie-ah,” jisung said, gripping his hand tighter in reassurance. “look at me.”

_ “you don’t deserve him.” _

jeongin hesitated but eventually met his hyung’s tender eyes, ones that almost sent him staring right back down at how sincere they were. but, he kept his head up, and jisung stared at him with a solemn smile on his lips, corners upturned just a bit. he then took one of his hands away from the youngers to wipe away at the tear that rolled down his cheek. 

“it was only another bad dream, okay? you’re right here, i’m right here, and you’re not going to die. okay?”

jeongin nodded. 

“good,” jisung said, his hand slinking away from jeongin’s face and toward his neck. “let’s go back to sleep, hm?”

“ye-yeah,” jeongin said, relaxing back down into the bed. jisung followed suit, lying on the pillow next to jeongin. he detached from jeongin’s hand and neck to wrap them around his waist, bringing him close against his chest. 

“you’re safe,” he murmured behind his ear, “try to sleep.”

“o-okay,” jeongin said, and after a beat of silence, “thank you, hyung.”

_ “you don’t deserve this.” _

“don’t mention it innie-ah,” he replied, yawning quietly and shifting his arms to fit comfortably around jeongin. they fell into an early morning silence, jisung ceasing his sounds as he slept in jeongin’s bed, trying to comfort the boy.

if only he knew that jeongin was wide awake, thinking of the blood that flowed from his head and how _ similar _ it was to the blood that smeared his legs at night. of how the feeling of losing control of his impulses and tearing into himself for relief was growing to be an addiction, one that was becoming harder and harder to tame. of how _ close _ jisung was to him and how a simple slip would have all his sins being presented to the world, unable to be put back inside its little box. 

_ “what will happen to you if you lose control?”_

_"who will help you then?"_

_ “and what if they find out about your little secret, huh?” _

_ “you’ll end up like your own nightmares.” _

jeongin couldn’t close his eyes.


	5. wilted rose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh! sorry for being so late with this upload, my apologies. i meant to update this during valentines season but i became sidetracked with schoolwork and emotions. this part is a bit more lighthearted (?) than the other parts so i hope you enjoy it.

jeongin remembered the first time he started to sing. 

when he was younger, before he could think about companies and groups and training, he sang for fun. an innocent little tune would escape from his lips every now and then, most times in korean, and quietly in english if he felt confident enough. 

the small songs traveled with him wherever he went. on his walks to middle school, his studying and homework hours, and the grocery trips that he accompanied with his mother. he would start to use the computer to search up songs rather than research for his assignments, and then keep the lyrics in his memory to replay. 

and one day, he happened to stumble upon a unique song, one that differed from the pop and rap that played in the speakers of restaurants and parties.

trot. 

he could recall the time he came across it, being confused by the dramatic rises and falls of the person singing. but, he was drawn into the bright sounds and the unpredictable quality of the songs. he giggled quietly when the lady would complain about her older brother (a meanie, she called him), and his head bopped along to the man singing about a park on a beautiful spring day. 

he started mixing trot into the mix of his regular pop songs, getting a pause from the futuristic electronic sounds to being transported into a new world, full of charismatic notes and lighthearted lyrics. he often played it on his way to school, giving him a boost of energy before having to subject himself to a full day of worksheets. 

although he found the genre of music delightful, he learned to keep the songs to himself after getting many confused stares after he told other people what he liked to listen to. the one occasion that did it for him, however, was when he showed his older brother, who laughed at the knowledge that he actually _ liked _ to listen to trot. 

“you really like listening to that old stuff?” he said, his giggling quietly down after a moment, “why don’t you listen to something better?”

jeongin found himself tongue-tied at the simple question, his young mind not understanding why trot could not be as good as other music, and why it was a weird thing to listen to it in the first place. 

“i-i,” he stammered, staring down at his fingers and playing with them until his brother suddenly waved him off. 

“it’s whatever jeongin-ah, you don’t need to answer,” his brother said, ruffling the hair on his brother's head before leaving him dumbstruck in his bedroom. jeongin was trying to determine whether his brother meant anything by his words, but the image of him laughing when he showed him his favorite song was definitely stuck by him. 

and so he didn’t mention it again. he kept the songs locked away in his heart and mind, making sure to cover them up with the “normal” songs that he used to listen to the most. 

and he was fairly successful at it, until the day that his class decided to go on a trip to a nursing home.

it was a volunteering trip, and jeongin liked being around elderly people. they always had the funniest stories and had a special way of talking that he found himself drawn to. 

and so they went, on a sunny morning to the nursing home. the teacher divided them into small groups to interact with the seniors, who had wide smiles and crescent-shaped eyes to receive them with. 

jeongin and another one of his classmates were with a man named lee youngchul, an energetic man who loved music and had one of the largest collection of cd’s that jeongin had ever seen. the genres varied greatly, from classical to rock to ballads, but the ones that caught jeongin’s eye the most were the trot cd’s. 

“when i was your age, i used to beg my parents to buy me these things,” he said, pointing to one of them, “but they always told me to work so i could buy them for myself.”

“so when i got my first job, i worked really hard,” he recalled with a laugh, “i would have worked twenty-four hours if the boss didn’t kick me out every night.”

jeongin admired the collection, eyes trying to soak in all of the different artists that he had on the shelf. 

“which one is your favorite?” jeongin’s classmate suddenly asked, staring at one cd by TVXQ.

“my favorite?” yongchul questioned, scratching his head, “i have many favorites, but if i had to pick one now, it would have to be this one.”

he walked over to one of the lower shelves and plucked a cd out, showing the cover to jeongin and his classmate, and jeongin’s eyes widened at the cover. 

it was the album of one of the first trot songs he listened to, gripped tightly in yongchul’s hand. 

“this was the first album that i ever bought, so it has a special place in my heart,” yongchul explained, and jeongin made his way closer to him. 

“this is so cool!” jeongin exclaimed, and looked up at yongchul, “i really like this artist. may i hold it?”

“you like trot?” yongchul asked, his gaze becoming curious as he handed the album to jeongin, “you’re so young. do your grandparents play it a lot?” 

“not really,” jeongin said, admiring the album, “i like to listen to it by myself.”

“oh really?” he said, his eyes beginning to twinkle with mirth as he watched jeongin looking at the cd. 

“why don’t why we play it then? you can introduce your friend into to,” gesturing to his classmate who was still looking through the more modern albums. he suddenly picked his head and looked at jeongin, who was smiling through his eyes and yongchul, who was fixing up his cd player. 

“what are we doing?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed at the player.

“we,” yongchul said, inserting the cd in the machine, “are going to listen to some good old-fashioned trot!” 

◉

listening to trot with that old man shaped jeongin. 

yongchul praised jeongin’s voice for sounding the same as the recordings, saying that “he’s never seen anything like it.”

jeongin never blushed so hard in his life. 

but he never felt as confident either, because when he and yongchul finished their songs, his classmate and other seniors began clapping for their performance (a few even whistled). 

jeongin was happy, to say the least. all those times he kept his little secret away, not wanting to be excluded from others for his taste in music all seemed useless to him now. the feeling of genuine fun he had while being able to sing his favorite songs aloud, in front of anyone, was the most liberating experience he ever had. 

so much so, that when he came home that day he asked his parents if he could go to a music festival that yongchul had mentioned to him. 

they were curious about why he wanted to go to the festival, and jeongin answered their questions with a simple,

“i really like music.”

and so they let him go. 

during that festival, as jeongin wandered around from artist to artist, he stumbled upon the event that yongchul had talked to him about. 

_ “you should sing in the festival,” he said, “you have a charming voice.” _

and jeongin believed him. 

so on that bright spring afternoon jeongin sung for the crowd, and his fate was sealed. 

he would have never thought that that one school trip would bring him to the front doors of the jyp entertainment building, after arguments with his parents and endless nights practicing his songs. 

but he was _ there. _

he made it. 

and now he was here. 

sobbing quietly in the bathroom in the middle of the night because no matter what he did, it always came out _ wrong. _

gone were the days of charming voices and cute faces, the innocence of reality and rare thoughts of insecurity. 

his voice was _suffocating _ now, even to himself.

“‘_you have a charming voice, he said.’” _

“_imagine if he could hear you now?” _

“_he would take those words right back.” _

jeongin’s body shook as he cried, knees curled up into his chest. 

he doesn’t remember that last time he enjoyed hearing his own voice. 

singing wasn’t fun anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> p.s. please stay safe from coronavirus and remember to wash your hands always!


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